


A Miracle

by Sinistretoile



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, Rescue Missions, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:35:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27186647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinistretoile/pseuds/Sinistretoile
Summary: It's finally over. She welcomes death. Destiny has other plans.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Female Character(s), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 35





	A Miracle

**Author's Note:**

> My late submission into Cavillanche's writing challenge. My prompt was 'I was hoping for a miracle and I got you.' And I chose Geralt.

She could see the night sky through the doorway. The dirt and dust felt like daggers dragged across the raw flesh of her shins. She welcomed what was to come. Death would be a respite from the torture she’d endured for a time she’d lost count of. She’d prayed to the gods for a miracle. For an escape. For a release of this living Hell.  
It seemed her prayers were answered. Just not in the way she had hoped they would be. Her shoulders screamed in pain with the weight of her body. Not that they weren’t used to it by now but the angle had changed, waking up the pain that had dulled to numbness. Her head drooped between her arms. She couldn’t summon the strength to lift it. And what did it matter anyway?  
Their progress halted. She sensed movement around them. The startled voice of the guard made it through her brain fog. “We’ve no quarrel with you, Witcher.”  
“Aye, but you do.” The muscular, white-haired man lifted his sword and pointed it at the nearly lifeless body that hung between the hands of the guards. “I’ve come to fetch her.”  
“This one?” The man nodded.  
“Who on earth would send a witcher to fetch this garbage?”  
“I’ll be taking her with me then, yeah?” Geralt stepped forward one long stride.  
The guards dropped her into the dirt. She wheezed where the cloud of dust made her cough. Yet, she made no other movement. Perhaps he was too late.  
Geralt clenched his jaw and rolled his neck in irritation the swords of the guards sang from their sheaths. He sighed as they advanced forward. “Fuck.” The guards both raised their swords. But the Witcher knew how to fight and these men clearly didn’t. He had no desire to kill these men and took no pleasure in spilling their blood. But he did it nonetheless. Their blood darkened the dirt at his feet. They’d raised no alarm. And he’d made such quick work of them that their skirmish garnered no attention.  
The Witcher rolled the skeletal woman onto her back. Her glimmering eyes rolled inside her head. She wasn’t long for this world whether or not she’d made it to the pyre. “Your highness?” She hummed, a soft sound at the press of her lips. She tried to focus on his voice. “Your highness.”  
The woman in his arms finally looked at his face. She smiled and it was the same smile he remembered from long ago. The smile he returned to her held his sorrow and concern. Her limp arm found strength enough to caress his cheek. He leaned into her touch. “Wi...tcher…”  
“Yes, love.”  
“I asked for a miracle and I got you.” Her eyes fluttered closed and her body fell limp.  
Panic swept through him. He leaned forward to listen to her breath. The swallow, weak wisp of air through her dry, cracked lips widened his eyes and made his pulse quicken. He laid his head against her chest. Her heart beat slow, languid. “Up, love. You don’t get to leave me that easily.” He lifted her body appallingly easy. His strength combined with her emaciated form allowed him to effortlessly sweep her filthy, broken body from the dirt tenderly into his arms.

She felt hands on her. They were strong yet gentle. Then those hands lowered her into water. Panic swelled in her chest. Her eyes sprung open and she began to feebly fight, scratching and slapping. She wouldn’t be water-boarded or drowned. Not again.  
“Gods dammit, will you stop?” Geralt winced at the way her frail body snapped at his sudden shake but it got her attention.  
“Geralt?” She looked around the fire-lit room. A large bed sat in the corner. A fire tossed amber glow against the wooden walls. A lamp flickered feeble light in the warm darkness. She realized that her Witcher was nude, his silvery white hair loosed and around his shoulders. Dirt and blood marred his scarred yet perfect body. A moment later she realized she too was nude. Her softness destroyed by torture and starvation. Embarrassment and shame caused her to cover herself.  
“Don’t.” Geralt caught her wrists. She tugged at her wrists, but he was too strong. Her pride left her in a wash. She fell against him; all her fight ran out of her with the knowledge that she was safe. He lowered their bodies into the water. Geralt tenderly washed the filth from her hair and her body. The water darkened. He washed himself then gathered her against his chest. He held her there until the water began to grow cold.  
Geralt stood with her in his arms and stepped from the large wooden tub. He set her on her feet. With great care, he dried the water from her raw flesh. Then he laid her on the bed. She sighed and fell still, letting her eyes close. He watched her, his trepidation growing until her chest rose with a breath. He lay down next to her, drawing the blankets and furs over their bodies. Her body rolled into his side. He circled her with his thick arm, tucking her under his chin.


End file.
